My Perfection
by tetisheri
Summary: They promised perfection, and that's exactly what you got. The perfect organs, the perfect body, the perfect face. Everything was perfect after they were done with you. Except when it's not. After a while the novelty of that new you fades away, and you're left with nothing but yourself.


AN: Okay so this is my first Repo! Fan fiction. I'm a bit skittish about posting this, because I absolutely love the movie and don't want to butcher the characters. This kind of popped into my head while I was watching the scene 'Come on and try my new parts'. i'm not exactly sure which genre this fits in so i just put drama. Review please, I'd love to hear feedback.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

My Perfection 

Nine hundred and sixty two. This number? It means my entire life. I know it just looked like another number. Nothing special, probably just a serial number, or maybe a phone number. You can use this number in many different things. It could mean a time, a day, or a year. Nine hundred and sixty two may mean nothing to you, but I owe everything to it.

My appearance, my x-rays, my beauty. Without that number I would have none of it. There would be nothing of me. I'd be just another body, capable of being nothing but a defective donor. See this number was very important because what would the world be like if _I _wasn't in it?

I was the poster child of the company. The proof that they made new people every day. You walk in one thing, and walk out completely different. A new identity to walk around in, so for just a few short hours nobody knows it's really you. They promised perfection, and that's exactly what you got. The perfect organs, the perfect body, the perfect face. Everything was perfect after they were done with you.

Except when it's not. After a while the novelty of that new you fades away, and you're left with nothing but yourself. There are no dazzling eye shines, just silver eyes that make you look blind. There was no perfect slightly pointed but still round chin. That adorable button nose just looks smashed in. The full lips reminded you of fish. You're stomach is giving you cramps. The only way to fix that is to go into that building again and come out new and fresh. The only way to look perfect is to change yourself.

For the first thirty you are given the beautiful blue drug Zydrate. They dole them out to you for the pain you'll experience. It's like nothing ever before. Nothing could compare to what it does to you. You no longer feel tied in your body. There are no organs, no muscles, no skin. It's just your soul. You're free.

Once you pass thirty, you're screwed. They catch on. They tell you that it's addictive. They up the price, too high for it to go unnoticed by daddy. They say that there's a heart, from an athlete, perfect for everything. I needed a new one. They'd cut you off the blue glow. They promise that it's not too bad. A few weeks of bed rest and everything will be perfect. Just rest, it will be fine.

They lied. The pain was unbearable. Every movement, every breath, every blink was agonizing pain. I wasn't free of my body, I was trapped. Trapped in a living hell. They had promised perfection but this wasn't it. I demanded more, more of that beautiful blue glow. I couldn't live in this pain. I couldn't die with this pain, that would mean giving in, and I didn't give in. I always got my way. They refused, and even told dear old daddy. He told them to give me one more, just to get me out of bed. I had a social life to upkeep after all.

It stayed away for awhile. I could go about my days, spending daddy's money, and flaunting my new self around. I was dull again. I needed a new me, a new face, a new body, and new organs. I knew the pain that would follow it. I knew how much I would beg for my body to just stop living. I would lay in frozen torment wishing for everything to just go away. I knew what I needed.

I craved that free feeling again.

I needed the blue glow.

I wanted Zyrdate.

I couldn't get it from _them,_ those traitorous bastards, but I've heard of someone else. Daddy tried so hard to keep them away, so that Zydrate was only in the hands of the company. He wasn't doing a good job. I needed it, but I didn't know where to get it. I set up a help network for Z addicts. It was the perfect feeding ground for the drug I so desperately needed.

It worked. I met _him_ just a few short weeks after I set it up. The scum reveled around him. They listened to his every word, flocked around him. He wasn't much better then scum either. Filthy clothing, skin the shade of death, ratty hair with stripes of color in the black that was pulled away from his face, and a strong tall physic. I had nearly thought of turning away, but the moment my eyes caught sight of that glowing blue vial I stopped thinking.

It started out all about the drug. I could hardly stand to be in the presence that that filthy, stinking excuse of a man. He was more dead then alive. He only had what I needed. I needed that drug, and he was the only way I was going to get it. I wouldn't lower myself to become what he was. I was still above him. I still changed every time I came out of that building. I was still new and fresh. Never the same person when I would come up to him.

My daddy cut off my allowance. I was once more trapped in that unbearable body. The same dull looking person. I was no longer fresh. I broke every mirror in my room. I refused to look at my hands, my feet, my body. I was disgusting. I was simple. I was the same. I knew of only one thing that would change that. Only one item could make me forget that I was the same. I needed more Z, but I had no way of paying for it.

I went to him anyways. I was Amber fucking Sweet, he'd give it to me for free. He should feel honored that I even came down to use him as my way to Zydrate. And if he didn't well I practically owned this island. I could have a repo-man after the infamous Graverobber in a wave of a hand. I knew that I'd get what I want.

He refused. That fucking low-life refused to give me any. I snarled and threatened, but that _filth_ wouldn't budge. I brought up repossession, and he laughed. I could feel myself in my body, that dull disgusting thing that I had to live with. I needed to get away from it. I had to get another hit of Z. There was no other choice, and I offered up my body. It took a bit of persuading on my part, but eventually, like they all do, he succumbed to what I knew my nauseating body could give.

I got my Z, and that's all that mattered. I no longer felt myself. I was free once more from the dull looking body. My haze was filled with pleasure, immeasurably pleasure. I had never felt anything when I did Z. But this, this was undoubtedly different. I relished the splendor of this new feeling. It was almost addicting.

It was merely hours later that I woke up in an alley way, half dressed, and wet between the thighs that I remembered why I felt pleasure. I was satisfied, I no longer felt trapped. My daddy gave me my allowance the following day.

I became a new person. I felt beautiful again.

I needed more Z though. The pain was back.

It was easy to pocket the cash that was needed for a hit. It was easy to get a ride to the alley. It was easy to walk, pushing those disgusting peasants out of my way. It was easy to see him, teasing, taunting, terrorizing his faithful users. They got on their knees and begged for a hit, they pleaded, they whined. When those icy blue eyes that were always mocking turned towards me I found myself smirking.

It was hard to give him the cash that was in my boot, so I didn't. Then I had it again, that pleasurable freedom. This new me had a suitor. One that touched it, caressed it, bit it. It was used, and it was liked. He had given me perfection again.

It took nine hundred and sixty two surgeries to get me to where I am right now. It took hours of my life in pain and in agony. The scalpel has cut, sliced, and punctured my skin thousands of times. I've traded in, traded out, and replaced hundreds of organ. That number may mean nothing to you but it held a key point in my life. Those surgeries led to my pain, my pain led to that blue vial, and that blue vial gave me access to _him_.

I rarely paid him for my hit of Z in cash any longer. There was no point. The new me was used every time, it was needed every time. I was perfect. I was beautiful. I was needed. I found another pain killer. This body no longer felt like a cage some nights. This face looked almost pretty in my eyes. I could keep it for a few more days. It wasn't so bad seeing the same me in the mirror, it had served a purpose.

The arrangement worked. It always worked. He sometimes brushed off my offer, demanding the money. It almost hurt when he did. Hurt to see that he no longer wanted my body. The body I kept because he seemed to like it last time. Then I remembered that I was Amber Sweet, and 'no' wasn't really a word I took to heart.

I craved his rough touch.

I needed his body against mine.

I wanted him.

I always got what I wanted.


End file.
